Figaro and Rumba and the Crocodile Cafe Read online

  Anna Fienberg &

  Stephen Michael King

  First published in 2012

  Copyright © Text, Anna Fienberg 2012

  Copyright © Illustrations, Stephen Michael King 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available

  from the National Library of Australia

  www.trove.nla.gov.au

  ISBN 978 174237 311 9

  Cover and text design by Sandra Nobes

  Set in Berkeley Oldstyle by Sandra Nobes

  This book was printed in May 2012 at Everbest Printing Co Ltd

  in 334 Huanshi Road South, Nansha, Guangdong, China.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Contents

  Chapter 1 The Plan

  Chapter 2 The River

  Chapter 3 The Bad Dream

  Chapter 4 Mrs Foozy and

  the Motorbike

  Chapter 5 The Very Fast Train

  Chapter 6 Crocodile Café

  Chapter 1

  The Plan

  Figaro woke up on Monday morning and looked out the window. He picked up his phone.

  ‘Hello, Rumba,’ he said.

  ‘Figaro?’ said Rumba. ‘Don’t tell me you’re ringing from the next room?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Figaro. ‘I won’t. But have you looked outside? It’s a fabulous day.’

  ‘How can you see through that window of yours?’ asked Rumba. ‘It hasn’t been cleaned for five years. Now if I had that room, we’d be able to see down to the river and across to the other side. Anyway, it’s going to rain.’

  Figaro pushed up the window. ‘No, it’s just the wind moving the clouds all about. It’s a fast, rushy sort of day. I can smell Mrs Foozy and her lamb cutlets coming back from the butcher.’

  ‘Figaro?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m going back to sleep.’

  ‘No, listen, Rumba, I have a great plan. Have you heard about the Very Fast Train? I want to go on it. Nate said it was the best thing. Like flying, he said.’

  ‘I know for a fact that thieves and villains ride that train.’

  ‘Nate’s not a villain.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Rumba. ‘Anyway, Monday is cleaning the house. Tuesday is going out.’

  ‘The Very Fast Train takes you all the way to the beach!’ cried Figaro. ‘Wouldn’t you love to see something new?’

  ‘Oh, Figaro, hang up and meet me in the kitchen,’ sighed Rumba. ‘And bring that new mop.’

  Rumba had his sad voice on, Figaro could tell. When Rumba was sad, his whiskers drooped and his paws splayed out as if he was dead. He looked flat and empty like an old coat. This morning he’d probably had a sad dream.

  On days like this, Rumba got to thinking about all the bad things that had ever happened to him. And there had been a lot. Once Figaro saw a list Rumba had made, starting from when Rumba was just a kitten, back in Cuba where there were wild drums and haunting songs. Rumba didn’t sing very often, just hummed sometimes when he cleaned.

  Figaro looked at his floor. Somewhere under his tennis racket, bowling shoes, pinball game, scary Halloween mask and Monopoly was that mop.

  When he found the horrible thing he went scrambling out of the room.

  And he ran smack into Rumba in the hallway.

  ‘Listen,’ said Rumba. ‘What about this. We clean now and then go on the train. Even though it’s Monday.’

  Figaro’s tail began to thump. ‘So, what time can we go? Nate said he got the lunch train. He had hamburgers.’

  Rumba said all right then and wasn’t it a great thing they had plenty of time to get a good mop in first! ‘Why don’t we start with your room? Maybe we could even clean the window!’

  Rumba got the bucket and filled it with warm soapy water. Figaro popped the sparkly bubbles with his nose.

  Rumba found him a cleaning cloth and Figaro began to scrub the window. He made drippy patterns on the glass and drew ham bones and lamb cutlets with his paw. At last they stood back to admire their work.

  ‘There’s the river and someone in a boat,’ cried Figaro. ‘It’s Rat! I can even see his fishing line. Look, he’s hauling up a mullet – ’

  ‘A perch, I think,’ said Rumba, licking his lips.

  ‘I might just run down and say hello. It’s a great day for fishing!’

  ‘What about the Fast Train?’

  ‘Oh, I forgot,’ said Figaro. ‘We’re going to rush through the air like a cloud. Did you know the Very Fast Train goes three hundred kilometres an hour?’

  Rumba didn’t know that, but he said he wouldn’t mind being a very fast cloud with Figaro. He wouldn’t mind it at all.

  Chapter 2

  The River

  Figaro’s tail thumped against the door. ‘Come on, Rumba, we’ll miss the train.’

  ‘I’m going as fast as I can, Figaro. But this bag won’t pack itself. I’ve put in the spicy sausages and mango juice –’ ‘I told you they’ll have all that on the train,’ said Figaro.

  Just then there was a knock at the door. Rat huddled on the doorstep, dripping wet.

  ‘Hello, Rat,’ said Figaro. ‘What’s up?’

  Rat wiped the water off his whiskers. ‘Oh, Figaro, something terrible has happened.’ He sneezed loudly. ‘It’s Nate, he’s missing!’

  ‘Oh, is that all,’ said Rumba. ‘Do you know what time it is? Morning. Nate never gets up till noon. No use knocking on his door.’ Rumba looked at the puddle around Rat. ‘Would you mind drying off outside?’

  ‘No, you don’t understand, I saw Nate only an hour ago,’ said Rat. ‘He came down to the river to try out his new canoe.’

  ‘I’ve seen those canoes on the TV ads. They look great! They’ve got oars and everything,’ said Figaro.

  ‘Yes. But you have to blow up the canoe yourself. It took Nate ages. He was all out of breath and shaky when he’d finished. Then he took off up the river.’

  ‘Well, he’s just lazing about in the canoe then,’ said Rumba. ‘Watching clouds. Look, Rat, it’s nice you came to visit and all, but we’re catching the Very Fast Train today.’

  ‘Yes, do you want to come?’ asked Figaro.

  ‘No, you see Nate said he would be back soon because his cousin will be on that train and he has to meet her. You know the one. Nancy. Loves dancing. So, like I said, there I was, just fishing, and dreaming – ’ ‘Was that a perch you caught?’ asked Rumba.

  ‘Yes, mighty fine it was too, but then I realised that I’d been fishing for a long time and Nate still wasn’t back. So I dived in the river. I hollered until my whiskers nearly fell off, but there was no answer.’ Rat began to cry. ‘Nate doesn’t swim so well, you know.’

  ‘You need someone to look for Nate,’ said Figaro. ‘Someone with a great sense of smell, who runs like the wind and swims like a fish. That�
�ll be me.’

  ‘What about the Very Fast Train?’ asked Rumba.

  ‘We’ll just have to go another time,’ said Figaro gravely. ‘Our friends need us here.’

  So Rumba put the sausages back in the fridge.

  Down at the river, Figaro found the canoe. But there was no sign of Nate.

  ‘Look, there’s a hole in the canoe,’ moaned Rat. ‘A sharp stick could have done it.’

  ‘Or a killer shark,’ said Figaro.

  ‘There aren’t any killer sharks in the river,’ said Rat.

  ‘I knew that already,’ said Figaro. ‘And see, this plastic is too thin. They don’t tell you that on the TV ads, do they?’

  Rumba looked at the droopy canoe. ‘Where is Nate if he isn’t with his canoe? Figaro, you had better run like the wind along the bank. We’ll search here.’

  Figaro took off, his nose to the ground.

  ‘Don’t worry, Rat, you couldn’t have a better dog on the job,’ said Rumba.

  Figaro sniffed his way along the bend in the river. He slipped in and out of the mangroves. The roots were thick and close together, like teeth in a comb. He went further up the river than he had ever been before. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and his eyes grew red and sore. There must be bitey things in the grass, he thought, because his lips and nose were itching like fire.

  He slid down the muddy bank, into the water. Strangly weeds pulled at his feet. He kicked out his legs and began to swim. Nate is not as strong as me, he thought. I hope he didn’t have to fight these worrisome weeds.

  Figaro swam up the river. Even though he hated putting his head under, he dived below to have a look. But all he saw were silvery fish flashing past like underwater lightning.

  The fish were so sparkly he tried to follow them, but they swam too fast.

  Soon he could hardly breathe he was so tired. His eyes began to close. His front paws stopped paddling.

  Suddenly there was water in his nose and mouth instead of air. ‘I’m choking!’ he spluttered. ‘Help!’ He gulped in more water.

  Then he glimpsed something moving in the mangroves. The thing was sliding down the bank. But Figaro was sinking again. His legs stretched as far as they could go, trying to find the bottom. There was none. Just lots and lots of horrible water.

  Figaro tried to lift his head again and take a breath. Then something nudged him hard. Something big.

  ‘Shark!’ yelped Figaro.

  He struggled wildly. His heart was thudding in his chest. Rat doesn’t know everything, he thought. He was making big blinding splashes. And then he saw something that made him stop splashing.

  Figaro barked with joy. He coughed and laughed and sank and wagged his tail. He was NOT staring into killer-shark eyes. He was staring at Nate, his mate!

  ‘Just put your paw on my shoulder,’ said Nate, ‘and I’ll tow you ashore like a tug boat.’

  Figaro didn’t want to swallow any more water. So he did as he was told.

  After he had shaken himself almost dry, Figaro said, ‘Where were you? Rat was just about fainting with worry.’

  Nate yawned and stretched. ‘Blasted canoe got a hole in it. I just left it on the riverbank and swam ashore. I meant to walk back, but I was so tired after blowing the blasted thing up, I thought I’d just take a little nap. Lucky for you I did, eh?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll say, otherwise I’d…but then, I’d never have been out here looking if you –’

  Nate sat up suddenly. ‘Fig, what time is it? Oh, drat and blast, I was supposed to meet the Very Fast Train!’

  Figaro sat up with him. ‘Me too! Maybe we can still catch it! Let’s go, go, go!’

  Nate hopped on Figaro’s back and hung onto his ears. They bounded along the grass, through the mangroves, past the bend in the river, back to Rat’s fishing spot.

  ‘Are you all right? Where were you?’ said Rat and Rumba together.

  ‘Are we still in time for the Very Fast Train?’ asked Figaro.

  ‘No,’ said Rumba. ‘It’s gone.’

  ‘So has Nate,’ said Rat sadly. They watched his blue shirt and bushy tail disappear up the path. ‘He could have thanked Figaro for saving him. You’ll have to excuse his manners.’

  ‘Oh, that’s okay,’ said Figaro. He flopped down on the grass. ‘Let’s go on the Fast Train next week, Rumba. I’m too tired today.’

  So Rat and Rumba and Figaro went back to the house and ate the sausages and drank the mango juice. Then they sat on Figaro’s bed and admired the excellent view through his sparkling clean window.

  Chapter 3

  The Bad Dream

  In the afternoon, Figaro and Rumba lay on the couch reading comics. Figaro’s eyes began to close. His head sank, heavy as a brick, right onto the comic that Rumba wanted to read.

  Rumba sighed. He really, really wanted to read that comic. It was called The Little Ghost Cat. I’ll just try giving the corner a tug, he thought. Slowly, gently, he pulled the comic out from under Figaro’s nose. Figaro’s leg twitched but he went on snoring.

  Rumba was up to the last page of The Little Ghost Cat when Figaro suddenly yelped like a car alarm.

  ‘AARRFF, AARRFF, AARRFFF!’

  he screamed. ‘HELP! LET ME GO!’

  Rumba called his name but Figaro just went on yelping. He is still asleep, thought Rumba, amazed.

  ‘You were dreaming,’ Rumba told him when he shook Figaro awake.

  ‘Oh yes, I had a terrible nightmare,’ moaned Figaro. ‘I was in this lake and there was a big dark shape pulling me under. Its teeth had hold of my front paw.

  Oh look, my paw – I can’t move it!’

  ‘What do you mean? It looks all right to me,’ said Rumba.

  ‘No, see, I can’t feel it. It’s gone all dead. That thing in my dream – it killed my paw!’

  Rumba took his paw and rubbed it. ‘Can you feel that?’

  ‘No!’

  Rumba gave the paw a little nip with his sharp teeth. ‘What about that?’

  ‘No! Nothing! Oh, Rumba, what am I going to do? I can’t run on three legs! I’m still a young dog. You’ll have to bring me all my meals on the couch. And you’ll get so tired.’

  Rumba was wringing his paws. How could this happen? How could a dream grow teeth and bite? But Figaro’s paw was definitely dead.

  Rumba paced around the house. Sometimes, when he walked, he got good ideas. He went into the kitchen and marched up and down the hall. He did a circle around the living room. Then he looked out the window and saw Nate in the garden.

  ‘Nate,’ Rumba called. ‘Can you come in? We need some advice!’

  Nate stood in the doorway looking very surprised. No one had ever asked for his advice before. That is, not unless they wanted some help with their car. Nate knew all about cars.

  ‘Wha …what’s happened?’ he asked.

  Rumba explained about Figaro’s paw and the awful worry they were in.

  Nate shook his head. ‘That’s too bad,’ he said. He shifted from one foot to the other. He made a tsk tsk noise with his tongue. Figaro looked as if he was going to burst into tears. Nate didn’t know how to handle tears.

  ‘The thing is,’ said Nate, ‘I’m looking for my cousin Nancy. You haven’t seen her have you?’

  ‘No,’ said Rumba. ‘Weren’t you supposed to meet her at the train station?’

  ‘Yep,’ said Nate. ‘And I was late. When I got there, she’d already gone off somewhere. So I’m just asking around.’

  ‘What about me?’ Figaro burst out. ‘How am I going to go off somewhere? Anywhere?’

  Nate looked at him. Then he gave a little jump. ‘I know! See that wheelbarrow out there? We can use it to cart you around. I’ll just dash out and get it.’

  When Nate came back, Rumba helped him lift Figaro off the couch and into the barrow. Figaro’s back legs spilled over the side, his head hit the front and his bad paw got twisted underneath him.

  ‘See, my paw didn’t even feel that,’ Figaro said. ‘By now it’s
probably broken as well as dead.’

  Nate told him to relax and took him for a test wheel into the kitchen. He pushed the barrow really fast down the corridor and made screeching noises like squealing tyres when they turned the corner.

  ‘Hey, this is fun!’ Nate yelled.

  Figaro began to cry.

  ‘I’m going to take you to Doctor Numbat,’ said Rumba at last.

  Doctor Numbat was very old. Mrs Foozy said he was so old that he knew everything about the earth and all the creatures living on it. ‘So he’ll know just what to do about a dead paw,’ Rumba told Figaro. But in his heart, Rumba wasn’t so sure.

  The first thing Doctor Numbat did was to listen to Figaro’s chest. Then he felt his forehead and took his pulse. He shook his head.

  ‘What? What?’ cried Figaro.

  ‘I don’t suppose you have been lying down?’ asked Doctor Numbat.

  ‘Yes, he has,’ said Rumba quickly. ‘He’s been asleep and he had a terrible dream.’

  ‘Aha!’ said the doctor. ‘Can you show me how you were sleeping?’

  ‘He was sleeping like this,’ said Rumba, and he arranged Figaro’s head on his paw.

  ‘That’s it!’ said Doctor Numbat. The doctor took Figaro’s head in his hands. He flopped it up and down a couple of times. ‘You have a very large head, Figaro. And it’s very heavy.’

  Figaro wrenched his head away. ‘That’s because I have so many brains. And there’s no need to make personal remarks. Did I mention how many wrinkles you have?’

  The doctor patted Figaro’s paw. ‘Sometimes when we sleep, a part of our body can press on another part and cause the blood to stop flowing for a while. So when you wake, your leg or arm can feel numb. It won’t last long. Soon you’ll have a tingly feeling in that paw.’